Chapter Text
There were many things Donald Fitzroy had left Six with before departing from this world.
The first and most obvious was Claire. The second was a legacy, that of a Sierra. Interestingly enough, one of the most impactful things in Six’s life was in no way connected to Fitz, as hard as the old man had tried to keep tabs on it.
It was a decision, made a few years back in a dank alleyway with dead mobsters lining the walls and the smell of old piss permeating the air.
Court had never regretted that decision, or the events it had set in motion. He regretted many things – the assassinations that had gone wrong, the information leaks he’d permitted while he was still learning, his inability to make a thinking feeling person out of the tool sooner.
He would never regret Driver though. Many people had told him he was an idiot for it, in no uncertain terms. He had taken it all standing, with the humility of a man who knew he would go back in time and do it all again on a dime if given the choice.
Sinking his teeth into Casey Daley’s neck was a non-negotiable part of his history, no matter how disappointed Fitz had been on learning about it. Call it alpha arrogance but he maintained that there was nobody in Casey’s life, or his surroundings, that would have made a better mate for him than Six.
Because Six might not be a reliable alpha but he was an attentive one. And Casey’s circumstances required, deserved, attentiveness irrespective of how stubbornly the world denied him that or what role it had assigned Six before meeting him.
That night he had looked at Casey and his trail of bodies and he hadn’t seen an omega that needed disciplining but a man that had been dealt a bad hand and had refused to just lay down and take it. When the world had told Casey to submit to luck, he had responded with a violent no.
Six hadn’t let that violence deter him.
Which led them to the present where Six had somehow been allowed to keep what little he had earned for himself. Less so luck and more the result of grueling years of training and battle instincts that came hand in hand with nonchalance at this point.
The difficulty of it all didn’t faze him anymore; what pissed him off was the determination of people with more power to take it all away from him. Lloyd had been a violent insecure psychopath. Carmichael someone who still needed someone to take the fall for his incompetence.
Six had let his instincts guide him and had outfought both of them. Now his instincts were asking for their payout, something in return, and he patted the wound at his side patiently, bidding it to wait just a bit longer.
The asphalt under his feet had turned to gravel and grass and he limped up towards the dark driveway, his steps sluggish and sleep pulling at his lids, jaw popping at a suspended yawn. The job had done a number on him, a small number, something like a zero with a few decimals but he’d still opted to return before sunrise rather than wait another day out in hiding.
Call him callous for the way he didn’t blink when he pulled a trigger nowadays but there was still a battered human being under all that dirt.
Alpha was another word that came to mind. It had lost its meaning for Six a while back however as protection, resilience and strength were more of a job description than some primal nature. He didn’t think his love for Casey or Claire was based in chemistry, in hormones.
It was something much more stubborn and abstract, enough to break through conditioning.
There was a rough scraping sound and he cussed as he slipped a bit on the gravel under his shoes. There was a first aid kit under the sink in the kitchen. Another one in the entryway, under the shoe rack.
He weighed the pros and cons of using either and decided it was smarter to drip blood over the kitchen floor rather than Claire’s converse. He was pretty sure Casey’s shoes were vintage leather too, he wasn’t rearing to find out.
The safehouse slowly began to take shape in the dark in front of him and he let go of the breath he’d been holding. A part of him hoped Casey hadn’t changed the sheets, he always slept better when the smell was a few days old.
A sudden image flashed through his mind, asking Claire to bring him something from their bedroom, her nose scrunching up in distaste and telling him to get it himself. The smell made her want to throw up, allegedly.
The words had cut unexpectedly deep, reminding him just how poor of a job he was doing, getting the two people he loved most to tolerate each other. He understood why Claire disliked Casey. He wished he didn’t because he didn’t know how to deal with jealousy or the hurt people felt after having been denied a secret.
Those were all problems reserved for mundane folks, nothing he had trained for. He’d tried remembering what it had felt like when he’d stopped being an only child but had come up short because he’d never felt like the time allotted to him by his father was in any way worth more than the new existence in his life. His father had made sure of that.
But Casey was there and now Claire was there too and they would have to learn to coexist because Six was no longer a man who could stretch himself thin. He’d been stripped of his resources for one. Had been betrayed and cast aside and left without his safety nets.
Another image flashed, Fitz bleeding out against a dirty stone parapet this time, and he tried not to let the memory sting so much. He wished Fitz could have lived long enough to see what Six had made for himself. Maybe he would have been proud this time.
The door made a quiet noise as he pushed it in, stumbling into the narrow hallway and shuffling around Claire’s converse and Casey’s leather cap toes. He didn’t expect either of them to be up at this time – despite Casey’s insomnia and Claire’s hormone-addled internal clock – and he slipped into the living room without announcing his presence.
The sight that greeted him hit him like that cargo truck in Singapore and he found himself frozen at the threshold, one leg hovering in the air to put less pressure on his wound.
The light on the coffee table was on. A few pillows had been pushed down to the floor. Claire sat with her back to him, excitedly wriggling her fingers in what looked like a poor attempt at ASL, Casey plopped opposite her, his expression soft and lazy and unguarded, the way it was when it was just the two of them behind closed doors. There were the faint remnants of distress in the air, a distant echo, and he looked tired and disheveled but Six couldn’t mistake the contentment in his mate’s expression.
He hadn’t noticed Six yet; smiling at Claire, shuffling the toothpick in his mouth before pausing her movements to correct her. She said something in return. Laughed. Slapped her hand against his knee playfully.
Her smell was warm and welcoming and relaxed, so much that of a protective alpha.
Six felt the pressure build inside his chest, behind his eyes. He began limping toward them, the pain in his injuries all but forgotten. Casey noticed him first, a lazy swivel of his eyes, Claire following soon after, whipping around to look at him.
“Six you’re back! Took you long enough.” She raised an accusatory eyebrow, the expression so familiar it hurt.
Six didn’t stop to acknowledge it, moving past the nearest armrest, circling the couch to stand behind it. His whole body gave a shudder as he wrapped his arms around them, one bloodied arm around Casey’s nape, feeling the outline of his bite through his sleeve, one slightly scraped one around Claire’s crown.
He stood like that, letting the moment sink in. Casey had started up that soft scratchy purr he did around him just to say ‘I’m here’ and Claire had lifted her small hand to pat at his bicep. If this was heaven, Six silently thanked whoever had sent him there.
“You need a patch up,” she huffed, her smell turning authoritative. This pup, Six swore to God. One day she would be more than he could ever hope to handle.
“I know. Just let me have this.”
And they did. For as long as he needed it. Because Six had finally hung on to something and that something had taken root. Finally, for the first time in years he could rest easy. He could look at Fitz’s grave and stand tall.
Because he had made it and Claire and Casey were both here and he would never let go of them as long as he still had blood to avoid spilling over their stupid shoes.